


Grey Like Stormy Skies

by brokenlittleboy



Category: Supernatural
Genre: (sort of), Established Relationship, Fluff and Smut, Hurt Sam Winchester, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Men of Letters Bunker, Protective Dean Winchester, Wing Kink, Wingfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-01
Updated: 2016-05-01
Packaged: 2018-06-05 17:49:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6714946
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brokenlittleboy/pseuds/brokenlittleboy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam wakes up one day with a dull pain in his shoulder blades and it all goes downhill from there. When things come to a head, though, Dean's there to take care of him, in more ways than one.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Grey Like Stormy Skies

**Author's Note:**

> This takes place in season eleven, near 11.16, but it's pretty ambiguous, so if you have a favorite season that includes the Bunker, it can totally be set in that time period.

Sam woke up one day with a kink in his back.

 

It was nothing he hadn’t dealt with before. If anything, it was spectacularly low on the list of recent hurts he’d endured. Even so, it was bothering him. He couldn’t sit at his desk and research without the throbbing in his shoulder blades distracting him. Dean teased him about getting old, Sam tossed back some harmless insult in response, and life went on.

 

Except it didn’t, really.

 

It got worse from then on out. The ache became persistent, sharp instead of dull, keeping him up at night and sleeping on his stomach to avoid spasms of pain. He downed painkillers like vitamins and only wore a single layer of shirts to avoid any unnecessary brushing against the twin spots of pain.

 

Dean stopped by to eye him quietly on an hourly basis. “You sure you’re okay?” he asked at dinner after watching Sam fidget endlessly, barely taking a single bite of his food.

 

Sam shrugged. “Better not have a herniated disk or something,” he muttered.

 

Dean quirked an eyebrow. “Always gotta lift with your knees, Sam. Always with the knees.”

 

Sam kicked him under the table.

 

It all came to a head in the middle of the night. He’d been drifting in and out of a half-asleep state, only making it that far due to pure exhaustion. He was jolted out of his cottony-cloudy thoughts by a quiet snap, and then the feeling of warm blood pooling in the small of his back.

 

He swore and turned on the light, squinting as he stood in front of the mirror, shrugging his shirt off and trying to get a look at his backside. The pain was amping up quickly. It felt like a billion sharp needles were trying to burst through his skin, right at his shoulder blades. It was as if the bone was breaking and fracturing and cutting him up from the inside.

 

It was quickly becoming unbearable.

 

Sam sank down onto the ground, trying to stop the trembles that were only adding to the onslaught of injury. He took in a deep breath, and closed his eyes.

 

“Dean!” he cried out, curling his arms around his middle.

 

He heard the sound of feet slipping on tiles as Dean sped around the corner. A moment later, his door burst open and Dean was on the ground beside him, reaching for him, saying something.

 

Sam shrugged away from Dean’s hands, afraid any more touching would only send another spike of pain shooting down his body.

 

In his haste, he forgot about the dresser behind him and he backed right into it, his shoulders smacking against the drawers.

 

He let out a cry that sounded more animal than human, pure misery and suffering. 

 

Dean was frazzled and red eyed, his hands held out before him and hovering over Sam. “What, what what?” he yelled hoarsely. “What is it, Sammy, what’s happening? Where are you hurt?”

 

“My…” Sam gasped as another wave of molten pain shuddered through his body. “My back.”

 

Dean was on the move before Sam even closed his mouth, creeping around behind him. Sam could still feel blood pouring out of him, slick against his spine.

 

“Shit, Sammy, what the fuck?”

 

Sam wanted to ask what the hell was going on but the breath was stolen from him. Instead, he sat there, hunched over his own lap, trying only to remain conscious.

 

He lost himself in pain delirium thoughts but was quickly brought back when another snap shook his body with agony. 

 

Dean swore. “I really don’t mean to freak you out, but something’s pushing outta your back.”

 

Oh, fantastic. He couldn’t even get that infamous scene from  _ Alien _ right. Shit was coming out the wrong side. What fantastic luck he had. He groaned to Dean in response, panting shakily, and oh, what the hell, he could actually feel it.

 

He could feel something rolling out of both of his shoulders. He had sensitivity in the new weird things unfurling from his back. They were a part of him. A tiny part of his brain reminded him of the nickname demons used to give him, the Boy King. Maybe these were his bat wings and he was just a really late bloomer. At this point, it honestly wouldn’t surprise him. Any ideas of purity he had were routinely snatched away and replaced with darkness. This would be no different.

 

He let the blackness wash over his eyes and slumped forward, grateful to get a brief respite from the pain.

 

The last thing he felt was Dean’s arms catching him.

 

\---

 

Sam was fuzzy.

 

More than that, he was soft. 

 

His bare belly was pressed up against what felt like a bunch of kittens. He was too exhausted to move, his very bones aching. Every single one of them. He was drooling onto a pillow.

 

So, a bed then. He was on a bed. He had a strange feeling that he hadn’t gone to sleep on a bed. But why would--

 

It came back to him with a hitched breath. He froze up, closing his eyes and bracing against the oncoming waves of pain.

 

They never came.

 

He cracked an eye open, but didn’t try moving. He took a mental inventory. Ten fingers, yep. Breathing fine. No pain. He was in his boxers. There was a sheet drawn up over his ass.

 

And something on his back was heavy. Possibly two somethings. Dully aching, but tolerable. He couldn’t figure out the source of the pressure.

 

They twitched.

 

He let out an alarmed squawk and locked up all of his muscles. “Dean?” he called. He wet his lips and tried again. “Dean?”

 

Dean’s head popped into his line of sight, hair sticking up in various directions. He was in sweats and a t-shirt and had bags under his eyes. “Sammy?” he croaked, blinking tiredly. “Y’okay? Does it hurt?”

 

“Were you sleeping in my chair?” Sam asked instead. “That can’t be good for your back. You should’ve slept next to me, there was room.”

 

Dean eyed him with an indescribable look. “No, there really isn’t,” he replied in a measured tone.

 

“Dean,” Sam said, quickly losing patience. “Please tell me what is going on.”

 

“Only if you tell me how bad it hurts.”

 

Sam opened his mouth and Dean cut him off. “And be honest. I can tell when you’re lying.”

 

Sam sighed. The pillow was wet with spit and it was kinda gross, but he didn’t dare try to hold himself up. “It’s just a two out of ten, I promise,” he told Dean, “so spill.”

 

Dean ran a hand through his hair. He looked more frazzled than Sam had seen him in a good while. “I have no idea what’s happening,” Dean confessed, coming over to sit at Sam’s side on the bed.

 

Sam felt a spike of fear cause his heart to start rabbiting in his chest. “Dean.”

 

Dean looked at his back and frowned. “You really can’t feel them?”

 

“I can feel… weight,” Sam said. “Like there’s a pressure on my back. What is it?”

 

Dean disappeared into the bathroom and came back with a hand mirror. “I’ll show you,” he said, voice all gruff and business, and came over to Sam’s head, tilting the mirror just so.

 

Sam peered into it wordlessly, his mouth working open and closed. He couldn’t find the words. He stared at a pair of stormy grey wings, shiny with a layer of drying blood, spreading out from his shoulder blades to lay on the bed. His shoulders were bloody and forming scabs where the joints of the wings had burst through. A few sticky feathers dotted the sheets. 

 

“I think you can’t move ‘em ‘cause they’re new, they’re baby wings,” Dean said, ignoring Sam’s internal panic, “you have to work the muscles first, you know? But shit dude, if you did, you could probably fly. Those things are massive.”

 

“I…” Sam blinked. “How?”

 

“Beats me,” Dean shrugs. “It’s scaring the shit outta me, but honestly, Sammy… they’re kinda badass. I’d respect angels a whole lot more if they had motherfuckers like these.”

 

“Dean,” Sam groaned, “Dean, what the hell.”

 

Dean sobered immediately, setting the mirror down on the nightstand. “I’ve got no idea, Sammy. But, uh, you want me to wash them? They’re kinda nasty. You wanna try getting up after that?”

 

Sam nodded, watching Dean disappear into the bathroom once more.

 

Sam almost fell asleep while Dean washed him. It felt more soothing than a careful lullaby. Dean was sliding a warm wash cloth through his feathers, getting all the blood off of them before gently drying them off. When he was finished, he didn’t leave Sam’s side. He ran his hands through the feathers and Sam shivered, letting out a soft sigh.

 

Dean’s fingers froze. “That feels good?” he murmured, before resuming his stroking.

 

“Mmm-hmm,” Sam mumbled, feeling like a purring cat. He used as much energy as he could to spread his wings just a little bit wider, feeling drained after shifting them a couple of inches. It was still the strangest feeling ever, completely foreign, but he found it didn’t scare him as much as it used to.

 

A feeling of peace washed over him and he relaxed further into the bed with each pass of Dean’s fingers. It was like a massage but a billion times better. 

 

“Almost as soft as your fuckin’ hair,” Dean said to himself, kneading out the kinks near the base of Sam’s wings.

 

Sam groaned, wingtips twitching as Dean continued to comb. Sam shifted slightly, trying to get more comfortable. 

 

“You’re gonna have to exercise these,” Dean whispered, never stopping his ministrations. “That might hurt, but I need you to help me figure out how to cure this, and you’ve got to be able to hold them up to help me research. I’ll help you hold them up at first, but after that, you’re on your own.”

 

“Sure, awesome,” Sam slurred past his drool. “Just… don’t stop.”

 

Dean chuckled quietly. “You’re only getting away with this ‘cause you had a shitty night. Don’t expect me to be fluffin’ up your feathers every time you want to get pet.”

 

Sam huffed, but Dean’s strong hands pressing into his wings drove away any complaints he had.

 

He laid there, completely content, his dick stirring in his boxers.

 

He jerked in surprise. He sped into full consciousness, his cheeks burning. Dean was still skillfully pushing pleasure throughout Sam’s body, his wings twitching and spreading across the sheets.

 

And he was hard. 

 

They were way too close for brothers, lived in each other’s pockets, knew each other’s bodies, but even so, Sam felt the shame turn his blood hot, and he begged his dick to stop taking interest but it wasn’t listening.

 

They’d even given each other a hand before, more than once, but that was ages ago, before Purgatory, maybe even before hell. Sam was having trouble remembering. This was different, anyway. 

 

Sam’s hips bucked when Dean hit some sweet spot, scritching his nails at the bases of the feathers, kneading at the skin underneath. 

 

His hips moved one more time and Dean’s hands stilled. Sam mirrored them. He waited for Dean to snap, to insult him, to walk out and pretend it never happened.

 

Dean climbed up onto the bed, treating Sam’s left wing like porcelain as he moved it to make room for his knees.

 

“...Dean?” Sam questioned, trying to crane his neck and look at Dean.

 

Dean’s hands were back. One hand was on his right wing, and the other hand was at his waist, pushing and tugging insistently.

 

“What?” Sam barked, face flushing. “Dean, what?”

 

“Lift up,” Dean growled. “Lift up, Sammy, I’m gonna help you out.”

 

Sam couldn’t disobey the order.

 

Silently, he got onto his knees, pushing his ass up in the air, face still tomato red. Dean’s hand brushed through his wings, and he was shushing Sam, his voice doing wonders to calm Sam down. When Dean got all affectionate and pushy, his voice was the auditory equivalent of callouses on hands, worn and familiar.

 

“Um, I, you don’t have to,” Sam mumbled, for lack of anything else to say.

 

Dean laughed. “Gotta stop overthinking things, Sammy,” he said, sounding gentle. He tapped on the waistband of Sam’s boxers. “Get these off.”

 

Sam reached back with one hand and shimmied out of his boxers, kicking them onto the floor. Dean swore and Sam heard the sound of a belt zipping through the loops and then the fast snick of a button. He peered behind himself and saw Dean kneeling near his thigh, shoving his pants off, cock bobbing up against his happy trail.

 

Sam swallowed and pressed his face into the pillow, breathing hard. 

 

“I know I should be worried out of my mind,” Dean said conversationally, rubbing the small of Sam’s back, right over the swell of his ass, “but these wings are just so damn beautiful, Sammy. They suit you. We’ll figure it out later, alright? We’ll figure all of it out later. Right now, though…”

 

Dean’s hand slid across Sam’s body, moving down to side of hip and then the wiry thatch of hair above his dick. Slowly, slowly, slowly, Dean moved his hand down, curling his fingers around Sam’s base and squeezing.

 

Sam gasped, feeling a drop of precome ooze out of his cock and drip onto the sheets. 

 

“S’good, Sammy,” Dean growled, starting to slowly move his fist up and down Sam’s length, “Gonna make you feel good, just stay still for me.”

 

Dean’s other hand moved from one wing to the other, starting at its origin near his shoulder and scratching through the feathers as far down as Dean could reach. Sam shuddered with his entire body, his eyes fluttering shut. Dean’s hand on his cock was painfully slow, bunching up the skin below the head of his cock before slipping back down and starting the process over again.

 

On the next pass, Dean dipped his thumb into Sam’s slit and Sam let out a filthy moan. Dean used the blurt of precome that pooled there to slick up Sam’s shaft and sped up his pace, going rougher and faster with practiced hands, wringing pleasure out of him in a way that had Sam’s hands helplessly clenching and unclenching in the sheets.

 

“Oh… oh g’fuck,” Sam swore, pushing his hips into Dean’s hand, stretching his wings out against Dean’s fingernails. “Oh, oh, oh shit, Dean.”

 

“Right here, Sammy,” Dean murmured, moving his fist up to Sam’s crown and jerking him faster, rubbing the sensitive vein at the underside of his cock. “God, you should see yourself. Such a pretty picture.”

 

Dean’s fingers were pure sin, and way too soon, Sam could feel the liquid heat of his orgasm pooling in his tummy. His hips shook and bucked faster into Dean’s hands, moving of their own volition, chasing completion.

 

“Deeeeaan,” Sam whimpered, biting his bottom lip, his cock twitching and pulsing against Dean’s fingers, muscles in his wings stretching and contracting minutely, “Dean, gonna come.”

 

“Do it,” Dean hissed, voice dark and sinful. “C’mon, little brother, feels good, right? Come for me, Sammy. C’mon.”

 

Sam let out a cry and fucked his dick into Dean’s hand once, twice, three times more before he choked on bliss, his orgasm hitting him like a freight train. His wings flapped wildly at his sides, stirring up a hefty breeze and hitting the sheets over and over again. He came hotly all over Dean’s hand in long, white ropes of come, riding the high for an impossibly long time. It had been way too long since he’d had any kind of release, and Dean always unwound him so fast and so fully. It was something he’d never stopped craving but never dared mention.

 

“...Oh, fuck yes, so hot,” Dean was murmuring, and Sam zoned back into reality, feeling loose and pliant. He heard the tell tale wet noise of skin on skin, and a moment later, he felt something warm splash against his ass as Dean grunted and collapsed onto the bed with a huff.

 

Dean shuffled until he was sheltered under one of Sam’s wings, his face on the pillow right next to Sam’s. 

 

Dean cracked an eye open, meeting Sam’s watery gaze. His eyes softened. “Never meant to leave you hanging so long,” he said, laying an arm across Sam’s waist.

 

“S’okay,” Sam said sleepily, letting out a long yawn. “You’ll have plenty of opportunities to make it up to me. On every available surface.”

 

Dean let out a surprised laugh. “I got no problem with that,” he said, the smile clear in his voice.

 

Sam went out on a limb and tilted his head forward, meeting Dean’s lips in a quick, chaste kiss. He pulled back, heart crawling up his throat, scanning Dean’s face for any hint of a reaction, for any hint of rage or disgust.

 

Dean’s eyes were full of emotion, his brow furrowed. He shot Sam a glance so full of love it had Sam’s throat filling up, eyes blinking rapidly. Dean pressed forward and kissed him back, deeper, urging Sam’s mouth open and sucking on his bottom lip. It was just as fast, but full of passion, full of promise.

 

“We’re gonna take a nap,” Dean declared, stretching out, his toes bumping against Sam’s ankle, “but after that, we’re building strength in your wings, figuring that shit out, researching, and working everything out, alright? But nap first or I’m gonna go homicidal.”

 

Sam chuckled, sliding closer until he could tuck his head under Dean’s chin and press another kiss to Dean’s collarbone. “Good plan,” he said, “gotta groom me more, too.”

 

“Yeah,” Dean said, and Sam could hear the fondness in his tone. “Definitely some more heavy petting.”

 

Sam could get used to the wings if this is what they led to. He could get used to protecting Dean with a feathery shield. He knew they’d find the answer, find out how to reverse everything, but still. He’d milk this while it lasts, sue him. 

 

He could get used to all of it.

**Author's Note:**

> I was punched in the face with a random, violent burst of inspiration, and this was the result. I didn't even know I had a thing for Sam with wings until just now, help. Also, it's unbetaed, so any mistakes are completely mine. I really want to pet Sam now.
> 
> Thank you so much for reading this, it means a lot <3 Any comments/kudos are super-duper appreciated.


End file.
